


Talk to Me Baby

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, French Kissing, M/M, Nervousness, Silly Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A french kiss involves all 34 muscles in the face. A pucker only two. Stiles consider this as a suitable excuse to start french kissing Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk to Me Baby

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspiring post here](http://didyouknowblog.com/post/57159918899/source-blue-adrianne-1996-on-kissing-from-the)

He’s gonna do it. Tonight’s the night. Stiles is gonna take the bull by the horns and lead it to the mountain. Or whatever the right saying is. The point he's trying to make here is that he’s going to take the initiative. He's going to take the dive. Bull, horns, yadda yadda yadda.  
  


Now if only Stiles could screw up the courage to ask for what he wants. He's cracked his knuckles twice, bitten off all his nails and is now worrying his bottom lip to death. Sure Stiles has reminded himself over and over again that he's within his rights as Derek's boyfriend to ask the thing that he’s going to ask. Now if only the lump in his throat would go away, then Stiles can start talking and move on to asking. But courage. Stiles needs some courage to start. He is 99.99% certain that the second he finds the courage, the lump in his throat is going to go away on it’s own actually. Or maybe it’s 80%. Fine, 67%. Or maybe around 44%.   
  


Derek’s shoulder nudges against his, a friendly little tap that makes Stiles jump in his seat. Good thing that they’re sitting on the sofa and there’s an arm rest on the side that prevents him from falling to the floor. So, thanks to the arm rest, Stiles flails in his seat in shock before turning to stare wide-eyed at Derek.

 

“Something’s bothering you.” The werewolf states, face turned towards Stiles. The werewolf looks as relaxed as Stiles has ever seen him, not a tense forehead or jaw muscle in sight. Derek's also wearing his gray Henley, the one that clings to his chest like a second skin. He's a sight and a half as a result.

 

It’s a shame that Stiles is going to ruin that perfectly nice, calm expression in the next minute or so. “It’s nothing.” Stiles replies immediately, too loudly, with a forced laugh.

 

The slow eyebrow raise Derek gives him tells Stiles that Derek believes him as much as he believes in the existence of vampires (i.e. not at all).

 

“It’s nothing serious?” Stiles corrects himself weakly when Derek gives him a flat look. It's flatter than their floor.

 

"I’ll be the judge of that." Derek retorts dryly, stretching an arm out over the sofa back. Stiles wants to know if there’s some way that he can distract Derek long enough to forget this conversation and crawl into the space that’s been opened for him. There’s a hand on his shoulder, dragging him against Derek’s side which takes the decision out of Stiles’ hand.   
  


With his nose pressed into a hard pectoral muscle, Stiles figures that this might be easier. If he doesn’t have to look at Derek’s face, he might be able to get the words out. “Right.” Stiles mumbles into the grey shirt. It’s a nice shirt. Soft, thin. The color brings out the hazel tones in Derek’s eyes. Stiles personally refers to it as ‘the magical shirt’ for that reason (no it's not because he can see Derek's nipples through the material from time to time, jeez).   
  


Okay, okay. He can do this. Stiles takes in a deep breath and nods, quick and firm at the movie playing on the screen. Brad Pitt kicks the apartment door open, leaving Morgan Freeman behind in the hallway, neither of them caring a wit about Stiles’ life crisis. He loves this scene. Hell, he loves this movie. Se7en is still one of the be-

 

“Stiles…” Derek half warns.  
  


Ah right. He's supposed to be asking Derek the thing. The whole long speech that Stiles has prepared for the moment slides away like a duck down a waterfall, leaving him behind the beautiful gem that he blurts out. “Did you know that a French kiss involves all 34 face muscles but puckering up only uses two?”  
  


Derek ignores the movie all together now, staring in bewilderment at Stiles, who tries to become one with the sofa. He can pull off the embossed pattern, Stiles is very confident of this. He's got the skintone for it.

 

“No. I didn’t.” Derek replies back slowly. It’s easy enough to see that Derek’s trying to figure out if Stiles is kidding or if this random fact is important in some way.  
  


"Well I thought you’d like to know. And that I could offer my services to help you… exercise your face…" Stiles’ voice goes lower and lower as he arrives to the end of his sentence, finishing up by cringing hard and burying his face in his palms with a muffled, "Oh God, kill me now."   
  


That was the worst. _The. worst_. His face feels hotter than the time after he’d pushed Derek back into a wall and pressed their lips together in a clumsy first kiss. Stiles doesn’t want to look up and see what Derek’s reaction is to his less than stellar attempt at convincing his boyfriend to stop with the pecks and chaste kisses and to move on to french kissing already because  _God dammit_! Stiles wants to know what Derek’s tongue feels like in his mouth, against his teeth, his tongue and now he's ruined it by his complete lack of game!  
  


Stiles whines when he feels Derek curl into him. Derek presses his forehead against Stiles’ hair, nose brushing past Stiles’ forehead as the werewolf states, “That was the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard.”  
  


That, and the way he can feel Derek shake with laughter against him, makes Stiles raise his head and glare half heartedly at Derek. “That  _wasn’t_ a pick up line!” He retorts peevishly. “It was a legit- mmmpf!” Stiles blinks and attempts to windmill his arms in surprise when Derek presses his smiling lips against his and then-  
  


_'Oh sweet mother of Moses yes! Houston, we have tongue!'_ Stiles lets out a delighted noise against Derek’s tongue, parting his lips and basically saying ‘Go for it’ without actually using words. He’s delighted when Derek pushes him back into the sofa right as he slides his tongue against Stiles’ teeth before running teasingly over Stiles’ tongue.    
  


"Yay exercise." Stiles can’t help but mumble, squirming happily in his place between Derek and the sofa, arms holding Derek tight against him. Derek groans quietly, nose wrinkling in an adorable manner that makes Stiles lean up to kiss the tip, before he ducks down to capture Stiles’ lips in a longer,  _dirtier_ kiss. Yay indeed.


End file.
